Command and Control
by TheShadeOps
Summary: As our fighter and strike counterparts said, we were their eyes and ears. We proved that they were right every time we flew with them. Ace Combat 5, Semi OC.
1. Shorebirds

**I present to you a unique take on the events from Ace Combat 5, NOT from the POV of one of the Wardog pilots, but from someone you never actually see. I'll let you guess who.**

**Disclaimer - I don't own anything related to Ace Combat. I have expanded on one of the characters a bit, and have introduced a few supporting cast, but I own nothing!**

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**Shorebirds**

The morning sun flooded my room, waking me up from a restless night's sleep. The nightmares had recently returned, the 6th of June 1995 playing back in vivid clarity. I can still feel the shaking of the airframe, even though fifteen years had passed. I, along with my crew, had nearly died that day. We lost two of our four engines, lost all navigation and communications gear, we flew back by following a single F-15C with blue markings on its wings that had passed near us. The aircraft was a write-off, and our crew was returned home for the rest of the war. They feared that if we were deployed again shortly afterwards, we wouldn't be able to function properly resulting in an unmanaged battle space and an increase of allied casualties. Safe to say, it was a good call.

I slipped on a dull grey tee shirt and zipped my flight suit half way up, tying the arms around my waist. It hid my rank insignia, but everyone in the squadron knew me anyway, so it wouldn't matter. After cleaning myself up, having breakfast and getting the days orders, I called my flight crew to the briefing room. We had a patrol today, and I needed to make sure everyone knew their part. I waited out the front of the room while everyone slowly filtered in. They quickly took their places and waited for me to start.

"Listen up. I'll only say this once so you'd better be paying attention. Questions will be answered afterwards." I stood in front of a team of around twelve people, all of which were under my command. Most of them were equipment operators and analysts, a handful were the aircrew. "We will be flying a standard patrol circuit around Cape Landers today from ten hundred hours to fifteen hundred hours local time. While on station, we will provide support to any and all civilian and military aircraft that need our assistance. Weather will be fine, so the ride will be comfortable."

I took this moment to contemplate what I may need to answer. Surely, they would not send us up for any particular reason other than to maintain our edge. I waited another minute, but no one raised their hand. "Ok, if we are all set, suit up and load up. Dismissed." I exited last and made my way down to my room to get the rest of my flying gear. It wasn't glamorous; there wasn't any anti-G suit or fancy flight helmet with a mounted cueing system. Just a kneeboard, paperback book and survival vest. Not that the vest would really be needed in combat. Our unit usually operated towards the rear, over friendly territory. If we were to get shot down, it would only be a matter of hours or so before we got rescued.

I reached the flight line, and took the moment to admire our craft. The E-767, a flying command centre built from an airliner, was the Cadillac of aircraft. She was a beauty, elegant and smooth, absolutely graceful. Sure, fighters might be fast and exciting when they flew, but she looked the best when she flew slow and easy. The large radome mounted up the rear of the aircraft was her weapon. When at the right height and power, we could see over three hundred and twenty kilometres away, and able to identify multiple contacts at once with little to no time wasted. As our fighter and strike counterparts said, we were their eyes and ears. We proved that they were right every time we flew with them.

"Major Walters, time to board sir." I heard my name being called by one of the senior aircrew, the pilot, from the boarding stairs. Another voice, a female's this time, came from behind me.

"Kelly? Let's go already. We're going to run late if we don't move." Captain Hall, one of my fellow crew, walked up beside me and nudged my arm. "Lemme guess, sixth of June?" She had been on board the flight as well, when we were both junior officers in the communications section of the crew.

"Yeah. It was this kind of time we stepped off for that flight. This kind of weather too."

"Don't worry, nobody has those kinds of weapons any more since then. And if those Belkans were to act up again, the Allies would swamp down on them again." She started to walk off, but stopped and turned back. "Oh, congratulations on the promotion, sir." I moved to catch up, hoping that my delay didn't delay our flight and patrol time.

At nine o'clock, we took off from our home field. At nine-thirty, we activated our close range radar and commenced checks. At ten, we began our patrol. I stood from my command console and paced down the aisle. The systems on board were split into different sections, mainly to spread workload in a combat environment. There were three main crews: One that managed aerial contacts, and one that managed surface and ground contacts, and one that handled basic communications. Each team of operators and analysts had access to each other's data, to allow them to deconflict each other and maintain complete situational awareness. In warfare, everyone was busy trying to maintain control of the airspace, something one aircraft and crew cannot do. That's why it was common to see two or three sets of crews in the area, covering sections of the airspace.

Captain Bianca Hall led the Airspace control team. I trusted her with her cool head and quick thinking under pressure; traits needed to lead the busiest team on board. Captain Derek Winters looked after Surface command. He had transferred from the Maritime Defence Force, having been an operator on their E-2C Hawkeye AWACS aircraft. Unlike the E-767, which crewed up to ten or eleven equipment operators and analysts, the E-2s only had three. And he had light combat experience during the Belkan War, his squadron attached to the OFS Kestrel. Lastly, Captain Simon Johns, a transfer from one of the reserve squadrons. He handled communications, relatively an easier job on board, but a hard one nonetheless. He didn't have any true combat experience, the closest thing he was in were the annual BLUE FLAG training campaigns.

For the first half an hour, the airspace was calm. Only light civilian traffic, and maybe one airliner here and there. The crew shared stories about each other, pranks during basic training, rumours about legendary aces from the Belkan and Usean conflicts, and current affairs. Then a contact appeared that got our attention.

"Command, Airspace. I've got a contact on scope, bullseye one-eight-seven, angels ten, heading one-eight-zero. Unknown aircraft type, requesting instructions." Hall relayed a call from one of her operators on the air-to-air radar monitors about something he saw on his screen. I pulled up a copy of his screen on my console. There was a single contact heading south towards the ocean, and it was headed for a section of the coastline covered by our air defence zone.

"Airspace, Command. Aircraft is headed towards the southern ADZ. If he's a civilian craft, he's going get blown to pieces. Keep track on him, assign him as Track One. Radio, command. Try to establish communications with Track One, warn him what will happen of he maintains course." The respective areas of the crew instantly went to work. Hall was on top of the job as usual. The ID tag on the contact changed from UNK to TCK 1, a sign that we were now tracking the contact.

"Command, radio. We just established contact with the aircraft now. He will not respond, but the frequency we got him on isn't ours."

"Who's is it?"

"Yuktobonian, one of their military channels." I froze. What the hell was a Yuke aircraft doing this far away and in our airspace. "I caught some chatter, like the pilot had left their mike on. I think they are making their return now."

"Command, Surface. Be advised, Maritime Defence Force NIM-104 batteries have detected the aircraft and are readying to fire. Wait, I've got a launch. Two Patriot missiles are in the air." Winters' voice became increasingly alarmed as he reported in. He was almost shouting when he finished.

"Surface, Airspace. I'm tracking the missiles now, twenty seconds to impact." I reached to grab the headset reserved for battle space emergencies. The channel was preset to Air Defence Command, and there was always an operator on the other end.

"Battlemage, this is Thunderhead, AWACS on station at Cape Landers. We have a possible enemy contact in the air, has been engaged within the ADZ. Missiles are in the air at time of transmit. Requesting instructions, over." Hopefully the operator got all the details I provided in that short transmission. Frantically, I awaited a reply.

"Command, Airspace. Missile one has impacted, missile two has missed. Track One is still in the air, altitude dropping, speed decreasing and has changed vector to zero-niner-zero."

"Command, Surface. Ground sites are still tracking, search and track radar still active, guidance radar is inactive though. I think they're standing down." I opened my mouth to reply when the ADC operator replied.

"Thunderhead, this is Battlemage. Continue tracking the contact. Ground sites have been instructed to stand down but keep tracking. We're dispatching a fighter squadron from Sand Island to intercept, ETA twenty minutes. Thunderhead, when the fighters arrive on station, you will vector them to the bogey, over."

"Battlemage, Thunderhead. Copy, will continue tracking bogey. Awaiting the fighters to arrive, over."

"Battlemage out."

"Command to all stations. Continue tracking the bogey but do not become fixated. Chances are that if that is a Yuke aircraft, he's called for help and they've scrambled fighters to cover him. We've got fifteen minutes until our guys arrive to guide him home."

The next fifteen minutes were tense. The mood was palpable; everyone knew their task and role to play in the coming hour. I walked past each and every console, making sure everyone was ready. Most of the crew had been involved in wartime missions fifteen years ago, including me. I took my post at the command console, noting the time. 11:01am, the fighters should be here now.

"This is Heartbreak One of Wardog Squadron, we are approaching the target." The voice over the radio set off the action in the cabin. Voices came though my cabin channel giving additional info about their target and the squadron.

"This is AWACS, callsign Thunderhead. Roger. Bring the target to the ground. Do not fire at the target. Repeat, do not fire at the target." I relayed the instructions given to me by Battlemage to the fighters in the air. I awaited the pilots reply.

"You got that, nuggets?" Apparently the lead just skipped ahead to make sure his flight were clear with instructions. I looked at the squadron information file, given to me by one of the analysts. Wardog, officially the 108th Tactical Fighter Squadron, had come under attack just yesterday from a flight of unknown fighter aircraft. Only select people were told about this incident, especially those operating within the same airspace that the incident occurred. They had lost the majority of their pilots, most of them rookies since the 108th detachment at Sand Island were an auxiliary training squadron instead of an actual combat squadron. Sand Island was perfect for training new pilots in combat manoeuvring, the wide spaces and open seas provided less risk of collisions and collateral damage if an aircraft were to go down.

No wonder the lead wanted to make sure his flight knew what they were doing; the odds are that they were the freshest pilots, straight out of Heirlark AFB. I listened in as one of the pilots, callsign Chopper, gave the instructions to the bogey over the UHF Guard channel.

"Command, Airspace. I've got four contacts on radar, bullseye zero-nine-zero, heading two-eight-zero, angels nine. They're closing on Track One and Wardog fast; they could be the escort fighters." I acknowledged Hall's call with a hand wave as I relayed the information to the fighters.

"Warning! We have four high-speed bogeys inbound. Approaching unknown aircraft bearing two-eight-zero, altitude six thousand! Hold your fire until further orders!" I listened as the pilot, now identified as Captain Jack Bartlett, hypothesised and admired the tactics of the bogeys. The two formations of aircraft closed fast, almost as if they were aiming for each other. Then my heart sank.

"Heads up! They're firing on us!" I knew what was about to happen, and whilst I knew rules were to fire back, I still had to remind them not to engage.

"Wardog Squadron, weapons safe! Hold your fire until further orders."

"Oh, come on! Those aren't blanks they're firing out there!" The junior pilot shouted his panicked complaint into the radio. Then I saw launch signatures from the lead aircraft from Wardog.

"Shut your mouth and fire back!" More signatures, this time from craft two and four, ID'ed as Edge and Blaze. Maybe they didn't hear me before.

"Captain Bartlett, this is Thunderhead. You are violating direct orders!"

"Shove it! I'm not gonna watch any more of my pilots die!" Then it hit me. He must have been the flight lead during yesterday's surprise attack. No wonder he was quick to engage, he didn't want a repeat of yesterday. More radio calls came over the net, signifying missile launches and kills. Each call corresponded with a change on the radar screen. Slowly, the contacts ID'ed as bandits disappeared. I know that they were fired upon, but they violated orders. I didn't want to be put on record as not trying to do something.

"Wardog, I ordered weapons safe for all aircraft. Follow orders and hold your fire."

"Command, Airspace. I've got a second group, same heading and angels as before." One of the analysts called this across the cabin.

"Do not fire at the target. Repeat, do not fire at the target." I needed to get Wardog back under my control. If I didn't, I could get in serious strife.

"Command, Radio. I'm picking up enemy chatter. Looks like Track One has gone down and the escorts are noting location." Sure enough, I looked on my screen and saw that Track One had disappeared.

"Wardog, enemy recon aircraft down." I heard the flight lead make a remark about this, and watched the screen as the new wave of bandits disappeared from radar quickly. I scanned again, and saw that the only aircraft on screen were Wardog.

"Airspace, Command. Confirm that the airspace is clear of all unknown contacts."

"Airspace confirms, Command." Hall's voice was fatigued, a sign of her adrenaline rush starting to subside. I looked at my crew, and noted how everyone looked. Sweat was starting to form on everyone's foreheads, not from the interior heat, but from the stress caused by our first live combat engagement in years.

"All unknown bogey aircraft destroyed." I relaxed in my seat, watching the clear screen as Wardog proceeded to return to base. "Radio, Command. Dispatch CSAR assets to the area, maybe we can recover the downed pilots of that recon aircraft and the fighters."

"Roger that Command, making the call now."

I typed up a message to be sent via secure data link to Air Defence Command, the standard method for all non-urgent transmissions by C3 assets like us. These transmissions kept the voice channels clear, which can get clogged up fast and have the risk of having information shared leaked.

_Engagement over Cape Landers. Recon aircraft intercepted by OADF flight [TAC ID WARDOG]. OADF engaged by unknown aircraft, suspected Yukobonian origin. Recon aircraft crashed during engagement. All unknown bandits shot down by OADF, no OADF losses. CSAR assets scrambled to attempt recovery of pilots downed in the fight. [SENDER = TAC ID THUNDERHEAD]._

"Sir?" Hall's voice caught my attention. She was standing beside my console, using it to support her stance.

"Yes Bianca?" I removed my headset, allowing my ears to cool down and to hear Hall clearer.

"Did that really just happen? I mean, that wasn't an exercise, was it?" Her voice showed fear and concern, something I hadn't heard from her in fifteen years.

"I don't know what to say. I just know that we did what we were trained to do, and did as best a job as we could."

We touched down back at base around four o'clock in the afternoon, and debriefed shortly after. I spent the night writing up an after-action report that I needed to file the following day. Being a crew leader of an Airborne Warning And Control System team was hard work. I also did some more reading up on the 108th, the squadron we operated with today. I don't know why, but I felt that our paths will cross again sometime in the future. As I slept that night, thoughts of what really happened and what could have happened filled my mind, taking the place of the nightmares I had been having of late.

What Bianca had said to me afterwards left questions in my head. And the questions scared me.

What will happen now? Where did those jets come from? Is this the start of something bigger?

I honestly did not want to answer the last one.

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**There we go. A new concept, new POV, and a few ideas to ponder about the actual character from the game. If you liked this, favourite, follow and review.**

**Thanks!**


	2. Open War

**Hello again. Here is chapter two of Command and Control (referred to as C2 from here on forward). I did a bit of research, both in-game and online, relating to locations, times and orders of events regarding the plot of AC5. And despite the fact that I have played the campaign of AC5 over fifteen times, I've only just realise that Missions 2,3 and 4 occur on the SAME date. Hence forth, I've rolled 2 and 3 into one chapter. Thunderhead isn't in 4, the control in that mission are the guys in ATC.**

**Anyway, enjoy. I've also got a bit of helpful info down the bottom as well.**

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**Open War**

A matter of days after the incident over Cape Landers, we found ourselves requested to fly a patrol circuit over Sand Island. The wreckage from both the recon plane and the fighters revealed that they were indeed of Yuktobian origin, something that scared the living daylights out of me. Fifteen years ago, during the Belkan War, our forces flew and fought alongside the Yukes. Now, they were spying on us, instigating combat in our airspace, and generally looking for a fight with us.

I was talking about this with the three crew leaders in the aircraft's rest station. There were a few seats, a small kitchen and a TV set there for crew members to use for long haul flights. When I brought up the origin of the aircraft we encountered a few days ago, the others fell silent. Even Johns, who hadn't been around during the war, understood the gravity and implications of what I had said.

We were about to head back on duty when Johns stopped Hall and I with a question

"Major Walters, Captain Hall. What was the war like? I mean, was it anything like Friday, with everyone calling out and such?" That instant, memories of that fateful day in June flooded my mind. I must have zoned out as I was brought back into reality by a nudge in the arm from Bianca. She coughed a bit, prompting me to answer. I said the first thing that came to mind.

"It was worse, worse than Friday. You think that day was bad? Try listening to the desperate screams of pilots when their radios became jammed after missiles tore them apart. Try watching entire flights of allied planes being wiped out before your eyes in an instant. Try dealing with the feeling that you couldn't do anything at all to help them. And try living with the fact that most of those pilots secretly think that you are just one more piece of red tape in the machine." I started to choke up, more memories of the war clouding my mind. Bianca touched my arm, trying to console me silently. She knew exactly what I meant.

"Captain, why don't you head back to your station and continue with your job." Hall's voice was the only thing I heard from the current reality.

"Yes Ma'am." Johns shuffled past me and back into the control room, whilst Hall led me to one of the chairs.

"I guess Friday shook some memories from Belka loose. Trust me, I'm feeling the same way."

"Bianca, when we requested for transfer away from Canaveral AFB, I thought that the distance would help those days fade away. That doesn't seem to be the case though."

"You should go see someone, after we're done here. Maybe put in for R&R over at November City, spend some time away from all of this."

"Maybe, I'll think about it." I stood up and made my way back into the command room. We had only been on station for half an hour when the first contacts appeared on radar.

"Command, Airspace," Hall called out. "I've got multiple contacts edge of radar, bearing zero-niner-zero, bullseye three-zero-five, angels thirty and descending. Moving very slowly as well."

"Command, Surface. I've got a single contact, twenty miles away from the aerial contacts, heading zero-niner-zero. I'm also picking up signals from that contact." Multiple slow moving aircraft, with a single surface contact nearby emitting signals. There could only be a few possibilities. One stuck out in my mind though.

"Airspace and Surface, Command. Chances are that the two contacts are linked. My guess is that we've got a bunch of UAVs and a control vessel in the area. I'll put a call into Sand Island, let them know what is happening." I put through the message to Sand Island, and got the reply that they will scramble within the hour.

"All teams, continue the track on the surface contact and aerial contacts. If they change in any way, shape, or form, I want to know." Half an hour passed as the UAVs crept closer and closer to the air base. I knew that the personnel there knew they had more spy planes inbound, I just hoped that the UAV operators didn't know that we knew that they were spying on us. Another ten minutes passed, and I nearly fell asleep due to the emptiness and lack of action on the radar.

"Command, Airspace. UAVs are turning around, speed increasing. Either they know the game is up or they've completed their mission. Whichever it is, they're bugging out. Wait a minute, new air contacts. Sand Island has launched fighters, flight of three F-5 Tigers and one F-4 Phantom, same group as Friday, call sign Wardog."

"Command, Surface. Control vessel has slowed down and is turning. I guess they're manoeuvring out for a recovery, wind is blowing west to east, and they're turning into the wind."

"Radio, Command. Establish a link with Wardog ASAP. Surface, Airspace, continue tracking." I switched my headset over to dual channel. I maintained internal communications in my left ear with external chatter in my right. Tools like this allowed controllers like me to take multitasking to the extreme.

"Command, Radio. Link established, ready for you to make the call."

"Wardog, this is Thunderhead. Unmanned recon drones returning to spy vessel. Shoot them down before they get back to the ship." I anticipated the return call from the flight lead.

"Sure thing, you got that gang?" I listened in as the lead got two replies. His trail pilot mustn't have heard the orders right. I was about to jump back in when he repeated the commands I issued, but in layman's terms. "Show me what you got Kid." I watched on the radar screen as Wardog Four pulled out of formation and sped towards the first pair of UAVs. "Our orders are not to fire on the ship." They must have been briefed not to fire on the ship. Hopefully the UAVs didn't send back data via datalink, otherwise shooting the aircraft down will be pointless. Within minutes, Wardog Four managed to score four kills against the UAVs. The rest of the flight caught up with him above the vessel, with Wardog Three scoring two kills on a third pair.

"Command, Airspace. I've got four contacts on radar, bullseye two-niner-five, heading two-eight-zero, angels nine." Time froze for me for a split second. I had the worst sense of déjà vu I've had in my life.

"Airspace, Command. Repeat last call. Did you say four contacts with a heading of two-eight-zero?" There was a definite hint of fear in my voice, and Hall almost stuttered when she realised what she called.

"Uh, that's correct sir. Four bogeys, heading two-eight-z-" She froze out of realisation. "Sir! That's the same attack axis as Friday. I think these might be more fighters.

"Hall's team. Label all contacts that come with a heading of two-eight-zero as bandits. I want to know about them as soon as they appear!" I switched my microphone to the external band. "Warning, Multiple bogeys inbound, closing fast."

"Same attack axis as before?"

"Two-eight-Zero. Same vector as last time."

"Geez, how many planes have they got lined up at the border." He must have been thinking the same things I was. "We've only got four on our side, we'd better abort. This way!" I noticed on my screen that Wardog had spread themselves out thin. The bandits must have seen this, as they all turned to converge onto Wardog Three.

"I can't make it, they're running me down." I watched as the flight lead and the two other aircraft turned back around to assist their friend. Two and Four broke left and right to tail some of the stragglers as One banked hard to get behind the bandit fixated on Three.

"Heartbreak One, engaging."

"Edge, engaging."

"Blaze, engaging."

"Chopper, engaging." It was turning into a repeat of their last engagement. Firing against orders.

"Wardog, you are not cleared to engage at this time." I don't know why I said that, I guess it was out of a partial flashback to Friday, or our of habit. I noticed two more contacts disappear from radar. "You splashed an enemy without permission to engage? What are you thinking, Wardog?"

Despite my pleading, more contacts disappeared, until the only ones remaining were Wardog and the control vessel. I had to hand it to them, while they broke orders, they were effective.

"Picture clear. All hostile aircraft are destroyed."

"Command, Surface. I'm picking up new signals from the surface vessel. Sounds like a close range missile track radar." I had forgotten about the ship entirely.

"Warning still in effect, keep your heads on a swivel."

"Surface, I've got a launch from the vessel. Missile tracking Wardog Two!" My eyes glued to the screen as the small missile symbol crept closer and closer to Wardog Two. Then out of nowhere it changed course, Wardog One's symbol appearing out from behind Wardog Two. The missile tracked closer and closer. Then it vanished.

"Captain?!" The voice wasn't from the internal channel, but from the external.

"Hey! Save the waterworks. I'm just gonna bail out here. We can replace these things, it's getting the crew back alive that counts. Make a call to scramble the search and rescue copter, and my reserve plane, okay?"

A flash message appeared on my screen, something I hadn't seen in years. I opened it, and nearly screamed.

_[URGENT] All aircraft within the Sand Island tactical airspace are to RTB immediately. National threat condition upgrade from Orange to Red. War has been declared by Yuktobonia as of one hour ago. Message to AWACS – Land and refuel at Sand Island AFB, then take up station at St Hewlett Naval Station pending further orders. Message to Wardog – RTB, Rearm and Refuel, then take up station along the coast between Pacific City and Akerson Hill. [END]_

I forwarded the message to every screen in the aircraft, including the pilot's information screen in the cockpit. After making a short call to scramble SAR assets, I made the announcement.

"Wardog Squadron, return to base immediately."

"But the rescue helicopter isn't here yet."

"Leave that to the rescue team! Refuel and re-arm at the base, and get back in the air immediately. The enemy has declared war on us." I switched off the external link as the aircraft banked and turned to fly towards Sand Island. I looked up at the crew, and they were all looking back at me. All of them had scared looks on their faces, but a few were ready for it, I could tell. Hall make a face at me, as if to say to cancel any plans I had planned on making.

We touched down and taxied to one of the aircraft replenishment points along the apron. I poked my head out of one of the open doors to take a look at the base. At one of the ARPs ahead of us, I could make out three F-5 Tigers in their standard two-tone blue camouflage. On the tail was the head of a black Labrador with a maroon lightning bolt for a collar. They were the jets of Wardog Squadron, the squadron we had assisted twice in a row within the last few days. I surveyed the rest of the island. Looking towards the east, I saw a pile of up-turned earth tailing off the side of the primary runway. Instantly I knew what it had been; one of the instructors had crashed on landing. That dirt pile must have been where his jet had finished up.

Other than the remnants of the crash, the sound of jets warming up, and the increased military activity, the island looked peaceful. Palm trees lined the northern edge, and fill some spaces between buildings. White sand surrounded the perimeter, the only thing between the water and the solid earth being a chain link barbed-wire fence at the sand's edge. I did spot sections that were open though, the signs of what used to be a section of fence evident. The sun was bright, and hot. If the airbase was located somewhere else, this island would make the perfect holiday spot. I could picture it now: hordes of families and groups of people having a good time and enjoying what the island had to offer.

"Sir, refuelling is complete. And a new message arrived for you." One of the flight crew popped his head out the cabin door to tell me this. I took one final breath of fresh sea air before stepping back inside. I took my place back at my command console and opened the message.

_[URGENT] Expedite departure from Sand Island AFB, St Hewlett under attack from Yuktobonian forces. No other AWACS unit available. OFS Kestrel and 3rd Naval Fleet is commencing emergency deployment from docks at this time. [END]_

I pulled my headset on and switched to the intercom.

"Aircrew, Command. We need to get this craft in the air ASAP. No doubt you got the message, Major?"

"I've just finished it now, now we're waiting for the hoses to be reeled in enough for me to taxi out. Looks like Wardog is coming with us. They're rolling out ahead of us. Ok, hoses clear. We're moving." The vibrations of the engines spooling up got everyone's attention. Operators belted seats and set systems to standby. We held short, waiting for the last of the Wardog aircraft to take off, before moving onto the runway. We didn't stop, continuing the roll onto the runway into our takeoff roll after the turn. The last time we had ridden on board for a scrambled takeoff was back in BLUE FLAG 2009.

It took us longer than expected to get close to St Hewlett. The second we had the base appear on radar, we separated from Wardog flight and commenced our orbit. I switched to external frequency and spoke to Wardog.

"Due to pressing circumstances, I'll be issuing an emergency in-flight briefing. Our naval base in St Hewlett reports that Yuktobonian aircraft have launched a surprise attack on the port. The situation there is critical with widespread panic. Ships from the Third Osean Naval Fleet docked at the port are currently under attack and taking heavy losses. Hurry to the port and provide air cover for our naval vessels attempting to escape the bay. Among these ships is the aircraft carrier Kestrel. It is the flagship of the Third Naval Fleet and a critical combat asset. You must protect the Kestrel at all costs."

I pulled up a master display of the radar, the picture a combination of the Airspace and Surface outputs. I took note of the multiple red aerial contacts and the mass of blue surface contacts. I took note of Wardog's location.

"Airspace, Command. I want you to switch Wardog's IFF signature from General BLUFOR to Primary BLUFOR. I want to keep an eye of where they are exactly. If you can also provide additional details regarding all contacts, do so. I want the clearest picture I can get." Not waiting a reply, I watched the contacts matching Wardog change from blue to green. I moved my tracker over one of the surface contacts, and the information box to the side revealed that I had tracked the OFS Excalibur, an cruiser dedicated to anti-aircraft operations. One more thing clicked in my head: Wardog had no flight lead. I needed to fix that quickly.

"Thunderhead to Wardog. Edge, you lead the formation."

"Negative. You take the lead Blaze, I'll fly on your wing." She openly disobeyed my orders. Maybe having Bartlett around as an instructor wasn't the best idea the OADF had made after all.

"Second Lieutenant Nagase," I said, pulling up the pilot ID from the screen. "Follow your orders."

"No. Blaze is leading. I'll protect his six o'clock. And I'm not going to lose another flight lead." I saw a fourth contact approach from their rear. Tracking him, I found out that it was an OMDF fighter racing to the scene from the nearby air station. He jumped in on the conversation.

"Quit screwing around, this is war! The enemy's all over and they're gonna eat you alive." The pilot, Captain Snow of VFA-206, the Shorebirds, flew is F-14 directly over the top of Wardog. "This is Captain Snow, call sign Swordsman. Engaging next enemy formation, give me a position."

"Radio, Command. You are clear to make contact reports to the surface forces and anyone who needs it. Anything directed to Wardog, I'll handle." Switching back to external, I hailed at Wardog.

"Cleared to engage." Within an instant, the three jets separated and began hunting for targets. I stayed tuned into the external frequency, listening to the multitude of calls made between ships and aircraft.

"Command, Airspace. I'm picking up formations of A-6E Intruders approaching from the west, north and south of the port at the same time, both high and low. Sending data to all allied fighters." As reported, multiple red blips appeared on screen, attacking from three directions. I heard the port captain call out on radio.

"All friendly aircraft, protect the Kestrel for us!" I was about to berate him, but was cut short by Swordsman.

"This is Swordsman. On my way, that's our ship." If he left his position, the northern and eastern sections of the port would be left exposed, allowing more attackers to come in unharmed.

"Negative! This is AWACS Thunderhead. Swordsman, remain in the Eastern sector. Protect our territory and continue battle."

"But that's my carrier!"

"Wardog, provide cover for the Kestrel."

"Damnit, you pigheaded.. All right, I'm counting on you, Wardog. Don't lose our ship." He was clearly angry at me for placing Wardog in charge of guarding his ship, but there was nothing else I could do.

"AWACS, bogey dope! Give me a target!" Another aircraft checked into the fight, it was another aircraft from VFA-206. I looked at my screen, and nearly threw up after seeing all the contacts on the western side.

"Bogeys inbound from vector two-eight-zero. It's no use, there's too many of them!" There were about a dozen contacts approaching, enough to overwhelm the six allied aircraft on station.

"Get a hold of yourself, your radar control is critical!" I admired the pilot for giving me a vote of confidence. I took a breath and carried on. Watching the screen, I saw Blaze fly out to intercept the new group of contacts. His jet whipped around and two contacts disappeared off screen. A third one followed suit not long afterwards. Edge and Chopper also flew out to assist, but this left the carrier exposed. They needed to be reminded about the mission.

"Wardog, this is Thunderhead. We need you to take care of the Kestrel."

"This is Blaze, we're already on it."

"Good, we're counting on you Wardog. Don't take your eyes off the Kestrel." I switched to Surface and noted that the fleet were moving as a group now, forming a defensive perimeter around the carrier. Once the fleet finish moving into place, the enemy fighters stand lesser chance of winning.I switched back to Airspace, and saw that the waves of aircraft subsided. We were clear for now. But I looked further east, and my heart dropped. I counted a flight of fighters, a flight of Nimrod Anti-Ship Warfare aircraft, plus multiple destroyers and frigates. The captain of the Kestrel came onto the radio net to speak to us.

"This is the Captain of the aircraft carrier Kestrel. My congratulations to all ships that managed to escape. As Captain, I will now form a provisional battle fleet. The enemy has built a blockade with their fleet in front of us. We have to break through and escape to safer waters. Good luck everyone. All friendly aircraft, your support is requested."

"Blaze, this is Thunderhead, are you clear on the mission objective?"

"AWACS, objectives are crystal clear."

"Roger, begin the mission at once." I noticed Wardog flight split formation and make way for the fleet. Edge and Chopper targeted the first set of frigates while Blaze made short work of the three Nimrod ASW aircraft. Blaze moved on and strafed one of the destroyers, disabling the SAM site on board and allowing Chopper to finish it off.

"Command, Aircrew. We're going to hit bingo fuel in ten minutes."

Edge swept south and destroyed a pair of missile boats, while Swordsman made use of his longer range weapons and took down an opposing F-14. Blaze ran one last pass on the remaining frigate, hitting the weapons system and bridge in one sweep. The entire scene was interesting to watch on the radar screen. I could only imagine what the aircraft looked like when they were in combat. The screen cleared up, showing only blue contacts and Wardog flight. They had done it, the third fleet broke through. The control room broke into a loud cheer as we celebrated their escape. I switched the external frequency from my headset to the loudspeakers.

"This is the Captain of the aircraft carrier Kestrel. Our fleet has successfully escaped to safer waters. My thanks to our brave warriors of the sea, and in the air." More cheering erupted as our plane banked to turn home. The ride back was filled with chatter about the battle, adrenaline still flowing through the crew's bodies. By the time we landed, everyone was ready to get some rest. Hall, Winters, Johns and I were the last few to lead the aircraft after it had parked.

"So, Johns, how was your first real wartime mission?" Winters asked, still pumped from the day's actions.

"What do you mean? What about Friday?" He protested. "We were there when Wardog were fired upon, isn't that war?"

"Nope," said Hall. "You see, the Yuke's hadn't declared war on us then. That was just an in-flight engagement with unknown bandits. In fact, this morning wasn't official either. Once we got to St Hewlett, that's when our war started."

"I see," Johns pondered. "Ah crap..."

"What?" I asked, knowing what he was about to say."

"Since I'm the only one here that hadn't been in a fight, I guess that means I've popped my cherry."

"Oh right!" Winters said, excitedly. "You know what that means, right Sir?" He asked, an evil smile growing on his face.

"I know, but I'll let Johns tell us." I pulled him under my arm, shaking him up a little bit. Johns sighed.

"My shout tonight," he said, growing sad that he would have to buy drinks for the entire crew. "But only for the first round. And I'm only buying beers. Nothing fancy." We walked, talked and drank for the rest of the evening, the crew of AWACS Thunderhead, one of the 67th Early Warning Squadron crews, celebrating their first mission in style.

* * *

**Glossary (Recurring terms):**

**Bullseye: The location of the contact relative to a pre-assigned point (Usually the point where the radar is emitting from). For the story, I'm using the location of the AWACS aircraft as Bullseye.**

**Angels #: One angel is 1000ft Above Ground Level (AGL). Therefore, Angels 5 is 5000ft AGL.**

**X, Y (Intercom): X is the receiving station, Y is the sending station. For example: Command, Airspace. ... - Means that Airspace section is talking to Command section. Keep track of this.**

**If you need me to clear more terms in future chapters, don't be afraid to leave it in a review or message me directly.**


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